The Night After Christmas
by Elizabird
Summary: A slightly nonsensical three-part story about Clara and Eleven and losing control and time sickness and twenty-seven six-year-olds. And Vastra. And evil snowflakes. And it's very silly, and makes absolutely no sense, and is purely something I'm writing to help me go to sleep on Christmas Eve. (I hope it works.) Hope you enjoy, anyway! x


_(__**I wrote this in three parts, and it's just something to try and get more excited about tonight/today/Christmas. So, if it doesn't make sense, it's because I'm a terrible author. Also, mice.)**_

_"It was the night before Christmas..." _A foot kicks aside a box, and something inside crashes and tinkles inside. The man pauses briefly, shaking his head in disappointment before continuing on. "_And all through the house..." _Something from upstairs crashes, louder than the box had, and the man's head shoots up, his eyes widening in alarm. "_Not a creature was stirring..."_

_"Not even... a mouse..."_

"Doctor!"

I.

"There's a couple things you want to know about the Doctor," Clara tells her class, smiling in satisfaction as she watches their eyes widen. They're hanging on to her every word - of course they are - and they're much easier to teach than rowdy teenagers. No, she was meant to tell stories to toddlers, she's sure of it. "And once you know all there is, then you'll be ready when he comes to fight the bad guys."

"He's like Batman!" Ryan squeals, shoving his fist in the air, overcome with excitement. "Does he have a car that goes woosh-swoosh-zrum?"

"Actually, he does," Clara says, her mind flickering back to the last time she saw him. He was bewildered by the Christmas lights covering the city, as if he'd never been in London in December before. She'd made him a cup of tea, forced him into going to see the nearest Father Christmas at the shopping centre, and he'd pulled her off to the moon seven thousand years ago, where they battled for their lives amongst terrifying... scaly things. She smiles. "But it's much, _much _cooler than the Batmobile."

At this practically blasphemous remark, Ryan sits down and gapes at her. "_Nothing _is cooler than the Batmobile."

"Except the Doctor." Clara sits forward in her chair, pleased when the twenty-seven children follow the movement of her head, captivated. "Did I tell you about the giant dinosaur? Or the monsters on the moon? Or the terrible snowmen that came to life? Or-"

The door of the classroom creaks, and twenty-nine heads fly up to frown at it. Clara, and twenty-seven children, and- _and- and? _"Hm." Clara raises a hand to her forehead, which is suddenly throbbing acutely. "That's strange. I got Mr Walker to fix the drafts only last week, didn't I?" To her relief, the class nod. "Must have been a wind from outside. I'll go and see if the door is- you just wait there, and guess what the Doctor did about the dinosaur!"

She doesn't know why a creaking door worries her so much. Except that she can see, on the floorboards beside it, three tiny little puddles. When she stoops and drags her finger through one, it's hardly a surprise to find that it's ice-cold. But it's been the warmest winter recorded in England, so why are there melted snowflakes near her classroom door? She glances at her class, who are muttering amongst themselves, and at Ryan, who still looks personally offended at the Batman remark. Surely-

"Clara!" Something grips her arm, and without so much as a yelp of fright Clara is whisked out of her classroom and thrown against the wall, where she's sure she's squashed some of her charge's paper snowmen projects.

"Doctor!" She hisses, angry. "You can't interrupt me in the _middle _of my class, how many _bloody _times to I have to remind you-"

He's wearing gloves, she notices absently, and he holds one long finger to his lips. His eyes are wide, maddened, and his Sonic Screwdriver is tucked behind his ear like he's some sort of paranormal building supervisor. "Shush, Clara, or they might hear you."

She wriggles out of his grasp again, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Trust him to pull a stunt like this so near to Christmas, when she was just praising him up and down the galaxy for his _amazing works of strength, _when she forgets how annoying he is in real life. "Don't play games, Doctor," she warns, pulling his hands away from his face. "Tell me who, what, when, why and where, and don't bother speaking in annoying riddles."

"You have to come with me," he says frantically, slapping his hands to his cheeks in irritation. "I'll explain on the way, I promise I will, but I can't do this without you. Clara!"

"Doctor!" She returns, her voice raising at the end in a deathly embarrassing squeak she'll probably remember for years to come. He raises his eyebrows, but says nothing. "I have a _class _of children in there, and they are all waiting for me to finish my story about the bravest man in the universe, who travels in something _way cooler _than the Batmobile, and I can't just abandon them to go rushing around the whole bloody world for-"

"Shut up! They'll hear you!" He hisses again. Clara frowns glumly; of _course _the extended compliment passed over his head. _As usual. _

"Miss?" Says a quavering voice, coming from the doorway. "Is this the man that's better than Batman?"

"Oh, _bloody hell," _Clara groans, and thuds her head back against the wall. To her grim satisfaction, she feels a paper snowman crumple at the motion.

II.

"Snowflakes that talk. But it's more than that, they aren't just sentient, they're like spies, like in that one-" In his frantic attempts to explain, the Doctor holds up his hands and splits his fingers in two, waving his hand in Clara's face.

"Uh... Star Trek? Spok? Star Wars?" She guesses, feeling a child pressing against her leg. "Doctor, this is ridiculous!"

"You're the one that wanted to take them, I just wanted _you _to come! Talking snowflakes, rips in dimensions connecting our universe and the wolf one-" He stops, winces, frowns at his hands and continues - "And somehow, they're talking! Talking snowflakes! But not good ones, Clara, don't be fooled, these are bad snowflakes. Bad, bad, bad. Wolf, universe, uh..." He looks up, confused. "Roses... they're building..." Then he slaps his forehead. "Affecting me! Time travellers don't get time sickness, Amy, but these snowflakes are giving me time sickness! That's their power, ability, thing, to give people the things they're most scared of. In my case, it's... what's the word, come on... stopping! Control! None of it!"

"Who's Amy?" Clara struggles to keep her voice even, putting her arm around Sophie's shoulders. "And what are you talking about?"

"Amy. Rose. Martha. Donna? Jack- oh, dear. Oh, dear, oh, dear. What number?" The Doctor grabs her shoulders, and Clara feels a wave of pity for how out of control he seems, how much grasp he has on his situation. "What number am I?"

"I don't know!" Clara yells, and takes her arm from her child so she can slap him across the cheek, as hard as she can. "Focus, you idiot! My name is Clara, and you're scaring my class!"

"Clara."

"Yes!"

_"Oh." _

"What?"

_"Not even a mouse... _Oh, Donna, you beautiful genius, you... wonderful, I could kiss you! Except that would be weird, so I won't do that. Mice! What are most humans a little scared of?"

"The dark? Abandonment? Death?" Clara is getting that familiar feeling of bewilderment that always comes with being around the Doctor for long periods of time. "I don't know!"

"Mice, Clara, mice!" He looks so triumphant, she doesn't have the heart to tell him that's not many people's deepest, darkest fears. "Are you scared of mice?"

"Not much," she concedes. "A little. They're... gross."

"Aha, but the dark is too difficult for one little snowflake." He swipes his finger across the control panel. "A mouse... it's not a complicated thing to make, a mouse."

"Are you saying that we're going to fight a mouse?" Clara asks. "You're mad. Madder than usual."

"Yes. Yes, I am," he nods, grinning ferociously. "We're going to London. I need to talk to Vastra. The mice were a complete lie, I'm afraid, but it did seem to be entertaining the class. I have no control, you see. I need her to explain, I need her to... uh, where's Rory? He's usually dead at this point. Terribly annoying, of course, but it can't be helped, can it?" And then he smiles wolfishly, and slams down the lever on the side.

Before she can scream at him, the TARDIS shudders and she knows they've landed. As he spins out the door, coat-tails whirling, she grits her teeth. "I will kill him," she promises herself. "I will _murder _him!"

III.

"Doctor!"


End file.
